


Puzzle 3301|Chapter 6

by KaileyFox



Series: Puzzle 3301 [7]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11884773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaileyFox/pseuds/KaileyFox





	Puzzle 3301|Chapter 6

_Shff…Click…Shff…_

           How convoluted this mystery was becoming…

_…Shff…Click…Shff…_

           A third insect puzzle, identical to the ones from my office and home computers…

_…Shff…Click…Shff…_

           And on the backs of the hourglass scraps… How had they got there…?

_…Shff…Click…Clack._

           The sound of my Oxfords striking hard pavement acted like a knock to my senses, pausing me in place as it drew my attention back to the present. I lifted my gaze, gathering my bearings. Behind me was the yellow police tape I had just stepped out from under, cordoning off another victim’s front garden. Before and around me many others strode. I glanced to my watch. Nearly seven in the morning. Quite a more customary time than when I had departed for packed streets and pavement. At this time, not only were tourists out and about—snapping photos of ‘Big Ben’, family gatherings on the London Bridge, pointing to spiralling hotels in which they had reserved a room alongside hundreds of others—but so were Londoners. Many dressed as I was. Button-ups, suits and ties. A phalanx making its way to various, equally similar happenings. And all—tourist and Londoner alike—were quite occupied with their mobiles, every possible topic meeting my ears as I silently eavesdropped. Work, school, video games. Friends, enemies, family. Predictably quotidian as they carried on with their day, seemingly unconcerned with the world around them.

           But as someone who had just investigated a murder, my mind was far from focused on the ordinary.

_…Clack…Click…Clack…_

           As I continued on once again, clicking my pen in time with my footfalls, I stared through the notes I’d already re-read what felt like hundreds of times. One more crime. One more ‘Hourglass Murder’ as it was now being dubbed by Inspector Brown who had informed me of this just before I’d left. It hadn’t varied much from the two prior cases. Another victim without a single wound, inside or out. Another hourglass scrap, adding another mystery to the mix. And, most important, another getaway made by the murderer who could be—no, _was_ —plotting at this moment where to strike next.

           The detective knew all this as well and even though he’d provided an official name for the murders—meaning they had reached a more recognised status—I’d learnt Scotland Yard would not yet be enacting a curfew. Why? I’d asked this very question of Inspector Brown moments ago. But he couldn’t say. Confidential, he’d offered unhelpfully. Something the Commissioner had decided. Though unsatisfied, I’d penned this knowledge down in my notes for recordkeeping purposes. But it didn’t answer the questions gnawing at my mind. For what reason did they leave the city vulnerable? Couldn’t they see keeping citizens safe should be just as important as catching the culprit? There had been three murders after all, in just a week and a half… What were they thinking?

           I sighed through my teeth, my features tightening. But what did I, a simple reporter, know…? I couldn’t help thinking a bit bitterly. Another reason to trade in my current profession for detective work… This refusal to enforce curfew only made me more anxious to understand as well as put a stop to these killings. Enforce my own curfew…

           But I suppose even as a simple reporter, though I couldn’t enforce, I could still solve. And perhaps I was coming close, or at least closer, to doing just that. I flipped a page in my notepad. At the scene I’d found another insect puzzle, this time on the back of the scrap of paper inscribed with the hourglass. In fact, it had been on all three. The one left on this, last week’s, and the week before last’s victims. I scanned the page now open to me, reviewing my sketch of the three scraps and an outline of the insects within. It was another piece of the puzzle at least, but with it came new questions. Why had the insects been there when up until now they had only appeared on my computers? And how had they ended up on the previous two scraps? They’d been in Inspector Brown’s care so the killer couldn’t have added them after the fact. And surely I should have seen them if they were there before… I turned another notepad page.

           ‘The insects seem selectively invisible.’

           Talking of seeing the insects, I had learnt Inspector Brown couldn’t. In hopes of achieving answers, I’d shown the backs of all three scraps to the detective only to be rewarded, instead, with confusion as he queried what I saw. My own confusion after realising this was a bit too familiar. Not for the first time these past few days I was reminded of when the second insect had popped up on my work computer. The one Mary hadn’t been able to see either… And when Justine had asked me about Mrs Tysan’s folder during supper last night, she, too, seemed blind to the insect…

           I had recorded these instances in my notes and had meant to take down that I’d learnt much the same from Richard himself—that he didn’t know a thing about not only the scraps but the Scroll as well—and could also be a contender in this mystery of the invisible insect puzzles. But in the end I dismissed this finding. Unlike the detective, Mary and Justine, Richard’s nescience wasn’t a surprise. He only arrived at the crime scenes to see how he could fit his Jack the Ripper tale around them. The insects could be a very visible, very hungry snake about to lash out at him and he’d still find a way to ignore it while scribbling out a nonsense article about aliens or unsolved murders from centuries past…

           Even so, ignoring Richard’s bit of the mystery, I still had three other people who were unable to see the insect… I certainly couldn’t ignore that something was amiss here.

           I shut my notepad, my brow knit with concentration. It was time I enact a two-part plan I’d been mulling around in the back of my mind since departing the crime scene. Firstly, to put my theory to the test. It seemed more and more that, though logic opposed it, this selective invisibility was a real factor in these cases. I still had yet to go to the office today. And considering Mary was the first person to witness—or rather not witness—the puzzle, I could easily attempt to prove it there. I slipped my notepad back into my waistcoat pocket, my fingers brushing another loose-leaf sheet. And no matter what answer I received, whether it was invisible or not, I _would_ uncover some solutions today. I retrieved the sheet and unfolded it, analysing the code I’d scrawled.

           Earlier this morning (much, much too early), I’d happened upon a series of numbers titled the Fibonacci Sequence—an arrangement of specific numbers which were also featured in the puzzles. Through heavy eyelids and willpower I’d deduced the Sequence correlated to the letters of the alphabet, meaning the numbers of the puzzle also spelt out a message.

           I hadn’t had time to decode it (or I would have straight away) and needless to say, I was eager to finally unravel this puzzle, the tired sheen in my eyes shimmering even now with a childlike enthusiasm. But, of course, work came first. Not necessarily because of any moral obligation. More to not appear suspicious or be reprimanded too harshly if I was caught. I hated being deceptive, especially with Mary, but after finishing a reasonable amount of articles, I simply had to know what this puzzle said. Especially now that it was connected to the Scroll. The childlike enthusiasm hardened to a grave glint.

           And both the Scroll and insects connected to the murders.

           Hmm, that’s right…

           This thought of the Scroll reminded me of the second bit of my plan. An interview with Mr Tysan. This was both for my report on archaeology and for my own investigation about the Scroll’s powers I’d read about in his journal. I needed to set up the interview again, today if at all possible. The sooner I learnt of what this man had found, the sooner I uncovered a truth I could use to end these killings.

           With this, I retrieved my own mobile from my trouser pocket, dialling the man’s number, which, luckily, I’d had since meeting him, back when I’d bring a much younger Justine over. It was lucky because Mrs Tysan had refused to provide the number for me last week by sidestepping my accidental request for it. Suspicious, of course. And this was why she was at the top of my list of suspects…

           Bringing the phone to my ear I listened to the other end ring as I glanced around and saw I was now imitating much of the throngs surrounding me. Probably a good thing… At least, if the killer was amongst us, it would make it harder for him to single me out. I prided myself on being more a leader than a follower, but sometimes to blend into the crowd was to keep oneself safe…

           “Hello?” came a voice, drawing me back.

           I was about to greet Mr Tysan, until I registered the tone in his voice. He seemed a bit guarded…

           “Good morning.” With this greeting I, too, took on a guarded comportment, listening for anything dubious, planning ahead, suddenly finding myself playing a game of chess as I analysed the situation. My first move: Not mentioning my own name just yet. I was curious as to how the man would respond. “Is this Todd Tysan?”

           Hesitation, then a demand. “Who is this?”

           As I thought. He wanted to know who he was speaking with before giving out his own name. Not uncommon obviously but even so… My eyes were much more accustomed to minute changes than my ears, but the tension tightening his throat, straining his voice was obvious enough for me to hear. He was definitely suspicious of this phone call. Was he cautious of someone who had been in contact with him? And if so, could this relate to the case? Only one way to find out. Making my next move. I smiled, allowing my own voice to sound more inviting to gain his trust.

           “This is Clive.”

           “…Ah yes… Mr Dove… Yes, this is Todd. What can I do for you?”

           His tone hadn’t changed at all. Was _I_ the cause of his wariness? Perhaps this was tied to the anxiety I’d seen in Mrs Tysan when she’d offered to interview in place of him? That might explain her refusal to provide me his number… It was definitely strange, no doubt. I continued.

           “I phoned last week to set up an interview with you about your occupation. Since you were busy, may I schedule a time to visit with you this week?”

           “...Yes…” He lingered on the word then responded, “Does tomorrow at six in the evening work?”

           I cocked my head to hold my mobile between ear and shoulder, retrieving a planner from my other trouser pocket while also pondering if I should test the waters or not. Would he mind if I requested an earlier time?

           “Do you perhaps have an opening today?” In an attempt to gain his sympathy I added, “my report is due soon after all.”

           “No. Tomorrow is the only day I have open for any interviews.”

          Though his wording was firm, his tone was not. More the complete opposite. Wavering, tentative. Even so, I complied so as not to deter him. “All right, that’s not a problem. Tomorrow at six it is. And the location?”

           “Uh…M-my office at Gressenheller…”

           I blinked slowly. He was getting rather flustered…

           “And what room number would that be?” I asked.

           “Three…oh-eight.”

           I penned this in my planner, adding a note about his further hesitation.

           “Alright, it’s settled then. I’ll see you at six o’clock in the evening tomorrow.” After marking my sentence with a full stop, I began to plot my final move, my last attempt to glean information from this phone call. “Oh, and by the way. I still have that folder your wife let me borrow. The one with all your artefacts.” My eyes narrowed. “I noticed a journal in there, as well.”

           I waited for a reply. No response. Checkmate.

           “I left the journal at your house when I picked up Justine the other night but went and forgot the folder. Silly mistake,” I chuckled. “I’ll return it when we meet.”

           Hesitation once more, then a very heavy, “Thank you.”

           I smiled. “Thanks for your time, Mr Tysan.”

           Ready to end the call, I lowered the mobile. That's when I saw he’d already hung up.

           I surveyed the number and duration blinking back at me, gathering my thoughts about this abrupt disconnection. He’d been disturbed by my mentioning the journal, that much was clear. And with what those entries had contained and the fact it had been hidden, dusty and neglected for years, I was guessing he had very good reason to be wary of me. It seemed I was one of the few people—if not the only person—who even knew of what he had discovered all those years ago…

           I may have known Mr Tysan for quite a while, even chatted to him while dropping off or picking up Justine. But this would be the first time visiting him where I felt I would need to protect myself.

          Setting aside my thoughts and vexations on Mr Tysan’s behaviour for now, I checked around me, making sure anyone who might possibly be the murderer wasn’t rearing back to kill me right then a there, then continued for home. The killings were becoming more of an issue, but I still found it rather easy to get lost in thought as I pondered the mystery at hand alongside my curiosities about this newest murder, the insect puzzles, the Scroll, the journal—oh, and I couldn’t forget to fetch some chocolate for Justine at the supermarket—the powers—maybe I should pick up some vegetables while I was there, I think we’re running out—what all should be added to my wall of notes once I arrived—

           “Hey, Dad…”

           I blinked, my thoughts interrupted. It had only felt like seconds but I was, in fact, already home. Justine was standing at the door, ready to head out to school. Physically ready, that was. Her hair was tied back in the usual spiked bun and she was fully dressed. Mentally, however, she didn’t appear all there. Her mouth parted in a gaping yawn, confirming my suspicions. She must have gone back to sleep after our discussion earlier this morning. I chuckled.

           “Good morning, Justine. Or perhaps I should be saying good night?” I ascended the steps, ruffling her hair with a smirk as I passed.

           Her annoyed response was immediate, a drawn-out “Da-ad!” accompanying the quick, feverish movements of her hands fixing the bangs she’d worked so hard on.

           “What?” I asked, laughter sprinkling my tone. “Now you’re awake, aren’t you?”

           She gave me a withering look in response, though a smile belied her exasperation.

           I started to slip off my shoes on the doormat when I heard her begin slowly. “So…” And I knew as I glimpsed her lips thinning in a frown this playful mood was already over. “How was the…” Her voice trailed off.

           “Fine,” I said to spare her. “Some new clues are coming to light. We still haven’t arrested anyone, but at least we’re making progress.”

           “That’s good…”

           She was looking away. My, the topic of murder really did make her uncomfortable. I offered a warm, teasing smile in hopes of lifting the mood once more.

           “I hope you didn’t throw a party while I was out.”

           She didn’t answer right away. In fact, she was still searching the floor.

         “Do we seem the partying type?” a voice interrupted my observations and I nearly jumped back in surprise when I saw Evelyne suddenly standing at Justine’s side, watching me seriously. Yet again I’d completely forgotten she had stayed overnight and was nearly scared to death!

         “I-It was a joke, Evelyne,” I stuttered, regaining my composure. “A joke…”

           “Oh…” she seemed puzzled. This expression quickly fell to one of very subtle determination. “Well, we weren’t studying if that’s what you might have been thinking…” With this she heaved her weighty backpack up higher on her shoulders. It was obvious she was lying. Even so, she really didn’t seem the studying type, either. More…the type that belonged behind bars…

           I was about to voice these cheeky thoughts in one last attempt to get Justine to laugh, but as I did, a sudden burp escaped me.

           “O-oh, my,” I murmured behind the back of a hand. “Excuse me…”

           “Oho, good one, Dad!”

           Justine was now beaming at me. At least I’d got her to smile but…at what cost…? I thought as heartburn began to sear my insides. I hadn’t had the time to brew a cup of tea this morning so at the crime scene I’d downed an entire can of fizzy drink in an effort to keep myself awake. Never again…

           “Remind me to keep away from those fizzy drinks of yours, Justine…” I insisted, attempting, unsuccessfully, to stifle another burp.

           “C’mon, Dad, that was impressive. Do it again.” She pumped her fists. “Louder this time!”

           “Shouldn’t you two be off to school…?” I opted to change the subject.

           Seeing through me, Justine began to protest but Evelyne turned to head out and interrupted over her shoulder, “He’s right. We wouldn’t want to be late.” Just as she said this, though, she turned back round and pretended as if she’d not said a word. Such an unreadable girl she was…

           After a few more seconds of expectant scrutiny, Justine realised she wasn’t about to get me to comply with her ungentlemanly request. “Fine…” she acquiesced, half-turning to Evelyne while still watching me, disappointed, out of the corner of her eye. “But just for the record I could do better than that…”

           I knew that full well… I’d been trying to teach her since adoption to be a lady but she never listens!

           “Have a good day,” I said in valediction. My smile faded as I became serious, watching the two with a stony regard. “Stay safe. Remember to be observant. And walk in groups. If you see someone acting suspicious, tell a teacher. Even if someone’s—don’t roll your eyes, Justine, you know this isn’t a joke… As I was saying, even if someone’s not acting suspicious, don’t trust everyone you see. They could be the culprit we’ve been searching for. In fact,” I paused, a brilliant plan coming to mind, “perhaps I should just home school you until this whole case is—”

           “You wouldn’t dare!” Justine suddenly sputtered. Now it was her turn to insist on getting to school as she took Evelyne by the arm and dragged her away. “We’ll stay safe, I promise!”

           “Now, hold on,” I called, “I think I’m onto something. Maybe I _could_ home school you. What are you learning about right now?”

           Yet again Justine opened her mouth to protest, this time in dread rather than anticipation, and Evelyne interrupted.

           “The four horsemen.”

           It was a simple answer, and though her voice was as monotone as always, I knew she was luring me in. My curiosity got the better of me.

           “And what’s that?”

           “A form of execution.” A small, eerie smile crept onto her lips. “My favourite one, in fact. The individual arms and legs of the accused were tied to four horses positioned in four different directions. The horses were then whipped, charging off in the direction they were facing and would tear the accused apart in a bloody, gory mess.”

           I instantly regretted asking.

           Seeing Evelyne’s plan, Justine, leering, joined in to spite me.

           “Yeah, and in science we’re learning about the life-cycle of flesh-eating insects. There was this one case where this girl had some flesh-eating screwworms living in her scalp when she returned from a trip abroad. Doctors had to extract, like, one-hundred and forty-some maggots.”

           I swallowed back the bile welling in my throat.

           “In history we have a test coming up on how Egyptians mummified corpses. They yanked the brain out through the nose with a hook, if you were wondering.

           I could feel the colour draining from my face.

           “And in chemistry we talked about one of the worst nuclear disasters in history. This bloke was exposed to 17,000 times the legal limit of radiation. There’s a picture in our book of what he looks like after doctors tried keeping him alive. Here,” a bit too enthusiastically, Justine pulled the textbook from her backpack, “I have it marked.”

           I nearly passed out upon seeing the image. Maybe home schooling wasn’t such a good idea after all…

           I allowed the two to leave (or rather, they slipped off on their own when they saw I was too dazed by the grisly images churning in my mind to stop them), but once I recovered my composure I watched after them until they were gone from sight. The school was only just down the road, but I still regretted not coming up with an actual brilliant plan, like walking with them or driving them there, before they had gone… As I shut the door I began to ponder a bit woefully, putting the kettle on and walking for the office. They had blended into the crowds so easily… Just two more citizens joining the daily fray, so ordinary…while another person, another seemingly ordinary citizen walked, possibly amongst them, unsuspected, uncaught, hunting down the next victim… If only I really could keep them here, keep my daughter here, safe and sound…

           I clenched a fist, my brow furrowed in reluctant determination as I reminded myself yet again that I had to let go, allow Justine to make her own judgements. There were only two possibilities if she was caught up in any danger. Either she’d survive…or she wouldn’t. And in case of the latter, I had to understand I couldn’t always be there to protect her. I had given her the advice she needed to survive. Now she was in charge of using it, not me.

           Besides, I sighed upon entering my office, glancing to a photograph on my desk as I recalled what day it was. Everyone died at some point… Hadn’t I accepted that yet…? In an effort to dismiss this rather morose topic, I turned to my wall of notes, setting my mind back to business.

          Previously an undecorated, blank wall, my wall of notes covered all the details I had recorded so far for solving the murders. Two sheets at the start were copies of the Scroll of the Guardians document from Mrs Tysan’s folder and a copy of an image of the Scroll itself. The six sheets following these featured the questions ‘Who’, ‘What’, ‘Where’, ‘When’, ‘Why’ and ‘How’ with various other notes I’d made beneath these headers. I stepped up and began to record yet more.

           First, for the basic facts. To the ‘What’ sheet, I’d already added another tally for the third murder when Mary had called much earlier, so underneath, I documented how this murder was connected so tightly to the other two. Same time of death, same report by the neighbours, same lack of injury, fingerprints and blood, same missing relatives and same hourglass scrap… In fact, these killings were so connected, they felt almost…systematic in a way. Planned, but to the point it seemed I’d investigated the same exact murder three separate times. I recalled the bodies had been moved as my eyes wandered to the note on this subject. They had been set up deliberately to induce this effect, then. What could be the killer’s intentions in doing this? A message of some sort? To the detective assigned the case? Or someone else? Me, perhaps…?

           To the ‘Who’ sheet and underneath my notes about my suspicions of the Tysans, I penned my curiosity about Mr Tysan and the conversation I’d had only a few minutes ago. Was his suspicion towards me related to the murders? And that response I’d received upon mentioning his journal… That heavy tone, like all the world’s weight was tied to it. He was certainly hiding something. What that something was…I had to find that out when I interviewed him. Of course I’d have to be cunning. As much as I wasn’t proud of that side of myself, it was for justice.

           This time at least…

_Click._

           The kettle had finished boiling. I set my pen down, knowing I only had a few minutes before I needed to be to the office. The least I could do was seize this opportunity to pour my tea or I wouldn’t get it yet again this morning, especially as I was already running on such a low amount of energy. And with how much I had scheduled for both my real job and my side job of solving this mystery, it seemed I’d need to substitute and sacrifice to keep myself going yet again. A piece of buttered toast to give me if even a minute’s reprieve from my stomach’s incessant grumbling. A few cups of Earl Grey in place of sleep…

           Though I’d broken this promise twice now, I promised myself once more I’d sleep tonight. I may have a puzzle to understand for the sake of London’s citizens, but those citizens wouldn’t do better off with me passing out. My thoughts shifted yet again to the insect puzzles, my brow creasing. They were supposedly invisible to everyone but myself. And if I was the only one able to see them then I was the only one who could solve them. The only one who could truly save London from the killer. I needed to keep myself alive and well.

           Thinking of the killer, it seemed more plausible with each piece of the puzzle I discovered that he’d involved me. The convenience of quickly finding clues linked to other clues, the possible tacit message from these masterfully planned out murders…and the physical message of these insect puzzles—things not even the Inspector had knowledge of… So, what did this mean for me exactly…? Was I to be a victim in this mastermind’s murder spree? Well… I couldn’t help the grim smile that thinned my lips. After all I’d been through, I was still alive. I’d like to see the killer try. Even so, I knew I wasn’t immortal… I picked up a pen once more, a red one this time.

           ‘The insect puzzles are linked to the murders’.

           Just in case.

           I spent only another minute or so at home, savouring my toast and cups of tea before forcing my leaded feet to the office. By the time I arrived, lucky for me, the restorative, life-giving powers of Earl Grey had kicked in and I didn’t waste this energy on anything but setting my plan into action. I placed my rough draft articles along with the Fibonacci code at my desk as I took the insect puzzles with me and walked for Mary’s office.

           “Good morning, Mary,” I greeted rather hastily as I stepped up to her desk. It was only when she turned from her monitor and blinked at me that I realised I’d disturbed her assembling today’s paper. “Oh, my apologies. I didn’t mean to be so—”

           “Good morning, Clive!” she sang, laughing. “How are you this morning?”

           “Fine,” I answered, chuckling. I knew just how swift her cheerful mood could vanish when someone distracted her from organising, but it seemed she’d not even noticed my discourteous interruption. “Yourself?”

           “Oh, fine…”

           Her eyebrow upturned, a tell-tale sign she was lying. I gave her a knowing smile.

           “You don’t seem all that fine. What’s the matter?”

           “Oh, well… I just got this email from our director. _The Daily_ earned more subscribers with that rubbish Jack the Ripper story.” She looked at me, incredulous. “Can you believe it?”

           As much as this news irritated me, the image popping up in my mind of Richard’s smug smile over such an announcement not helping much at all, I put aside my vexations as I remembered my goal. I straightened my tie. Now was the time to mention the insect puzzles.

           “I have something here that may be a solution to dealing with them.” I handed Mary the sheets, careful to keep my face free of any emotion. I wanted to remain neutral so as not to influence any answer she gave me.

           She studied the papers then flipped them over then flipped them again, thoroughly confused. “What are these, Clive?

           “One I printed off. The other I copied down from my own computer.”

           “You said you got these from the printer?”

           “One of them. Why?”

           “Only one?” she giggled as she handed the sheets back. “Are you sure you didn't just take two blank pages from the printer and bring them to me?”

           I was smiling internally. That was all I needed to hear. But just to be sure, I murmured, “What do you mean?”

           “I think your document didn't print, Clive.”

           I showed her the puzzles again and pointed to the insect, insistent. “This winged insect made of numbers. Don't you see it?”

           At this the laughter welling inside her bubbled out, shaking her form with each chortle. When she composed herself, she leaned back in her chair and spread her hands out as if envisioning the title of the best scoop of the year. “‘Reporter Hallucinates Bugs, Takes Accidental Holiday to Buggiest Island Ever.’” She cracked up once more.

           Just then a co-worker popped in, likely to speak with Mary about an assignment. Perfect. Before he could do much, I took him by the shoulder, acting desperate as I showed him the pages.

           “Look closely at these.”

           He did so. A second passed before he began squinting then another before his brow furrowed. All the signs of confusion. Good.

           “There’s…nothing on these…” He looked up, a half-smile hovering on his lips. “This a prank or summat?”

           I blinked rapidly, feigning confusion.

           “‘Prank’? ‘Nothing’?!” I blustered as Mary continued to laugh at my demise. “There must be something wrong with your eyes!”

           “ _Our_ eyes, mate?”

           Acting affronted, I threatened, “You’ll see… You’ll _all_ see! There’s a _mystery_ here, and _I’ll_ be the one to uncover it!” With this, I turned on my heel and stormed off.

           “The only mystery here,” Mary called between fits, “is why you've not bought a stronger pair of glasses!”

           Mary’s cackling faded as I drew closer to my own workspace but my own internal laughter had just begun. I placed the two puzzles on my desk, smiling in satisfaction. There was my answer. Mary nor a co-worker, Inspector Brown. Justine as well. They were all unable to see them. But I could.

           My contemplation stopped in its tracks, my smile receding to a concentrated frown at this last thought of Justine. I just remembered something. When the first insect puzzle had appeared on my computer, hadn’t Justine been able to see it then? Yes… She’d thought it was a virus and insisted I get rid of it. That’s why I had sketched it in the first place… But…she couldn’t see the one I’d sketched…? I was able to see them fully, everyone else not at all. But Justine was able to see them partially? Might it have something to do with Justine being my daughter? Not through blood, but even so, perhaps just being adopted by me was enough to meet a condition for these puzzles to be visible?

           Not only that, I realised only just now, but I had to note another feature of these puzzles: They were invisible no matter what medium was being used to convey them. Mary hadn’t seen the one while it was on my computer and she and a co-worker couldn’t see the printed or sketched versions. Inspector Brown, the ones on the backs of the hourglass scraps. So was it the very topic itself of the insect puzzles that was invisible…?

           I’d stepped into ‘hard to believe’ territory long ago, but this possibility put me at ‘so incredible it should have been impossible’. Should have been… Here I was, though, able to view these puzzles—both digital and written out—clear as day while others couldn’t… Now I had concrete proof this mystery really did involve me. And, it seemed for the most part, only me…

           So then… I intertwined my fingers, resting my elbows on the desk. What was the killer trying to convey to me? I eyed the puzzle and my notes on the Fibonacci Sequence, ogling them like I was about to dive into a mystery novel. That was…until I remembered just where I was and my eyes shifted guiltily to the articles I had yet to complete for tomorrow’s paper. Oh… Right… A bit downtrodden, I logged onto my computer, preparing myself to set to work while silently promising I’d be back for the puzzle in just a few hours.

           This task, however, proved quite a bit more challenging than I had anticipated. With the solution just inches from my fingertips each minute felt like an hour, and an hour felt like a day… The time dragged on so slow, in fact, I couldn’t help but hear each _tic, tic, tic_ of my desk clock, chipping away every agonising second off my eight hour shift. When I could focus for but a fleeting moment, I was only allowed to type up a mere word before those inveigling puzzles lured my attention once more. I kept glancing away from the monitor, getting lost in thought as my sights darted from the Sequence to the insects. Even if I could just uncover one word—one letter—I thought, I’d be satisfied.

           And so when lunch finally arrived, instead of feeding my body (which so desperately needed the energy by this time) I fed my mind instead, off the insects and Fibonacci Sequence. My pencil stationed at the ready over a scrap sheet of notebook paper, I took in the entire image of the numbered insect with its splayed wings, covered in secrets, then set to work. The first number was a ‘3’ and that correlated with—my eyes darted to the Sequence—Yes! A ‘C’!

           But just as I lifted my pen to excitedly jot this out, my mobile vibrated against my thigh, the jolt I gave causing my pen to scrawl a bloody slash rather than any recognisable letter. Irritated, I promptly answered my mobile without regarding who had called.

           “Afternoon, Clive Dove speak—”

           “Afternoon, _Dove,_ ” interrupted an all too familiar cocky greeting. Richard… “Oh, _my_. You sound _rather_ annoyed. Perhaps that’s to do with my agency’s earning _more_ _subscribers_ , hmm…? Or is it _something else_? Perhaps a particular _article_ you’re sweatin’ over? You know, you _might_ as well _give up_. There’s _no point_ in trying to _win_ this time. Our editor put _my_ article on the _front page_ again and when everyone saw _that_ …"

_He carried on and on and on, his prattling seemingly endless until…_

_"Dove_ …? You still _there_ …? I’m gettin’ to the _best part_ , you know…”

           I’d set my phone off to the side, not saying a word, waiting for…

_Click._

           There it was. I couldn’t help the self-satisfied smile that crept onto my lips as he hung up on himself. What a pompous idiot! Beaming, I eyed the puzzles once more. Now that that distraction was out of the way, it was time to uncover this mystery!

           But just as I’d hunched over, my phone alarm began to trill, signifying the end of lunch. I nearly ground it to dust right then and there.

           Well, I did say one letter would satisfy me, I admitted, even if that letter had been slaughtered in its making… So, defeated, I returned to working on rough drafts.

           But like a cup of Earl Grey, I could never be contented with just one. I wanted more. And now that I had a taste, it was nearly impossible to ignore. Because of this, the rest of the day dragged on even more agonisingly slow than this morning. At one point I had to throw the puzzle and code in a drawer to keep my eyes from searching and my brain from pondering if even for a moment.

           Finally, restless, irritable, tired and rather famished, I finished the last of my articles just before five o’ clock. It wasn’t hard to switch gears, my mood instantly improving as I quickly snatched up the puzzles, practically slamming my hand in the drawer I retrieved them from. That was good enough, I convinced myself. I’d finished enough research. Now I could truly begin putting my code to the test. Before starting I made sure to check no one, especially Mary, was watching. When I saw everyone else busy with their own work, I eagerly dived back in.

           On the puzzle I’d printed out, the one with the numbers arranged as sentences, I studied the first line on the very upper tip of the left wing. 3, 987, 610, 21 and 4181. Then I consulted the code. 3 was the C I’d already uncovered which I rewrote properly. 987 was O. 610, N. 21, G. And 4181, R. Congr. Congratulations, perhaps? I continued deciphering. 1, A. 10946, T. 17711, U. 233, L. That was the topmost line for the head done. Onto the tip of the right wing. 1, A. 10946, T. 55, I. 987, O. 610, N. 6765, S… I was correct. It spelled out ‘congratulations.’ Without hesitation, I worked my way along the next line that made up a longer stretch of the left wing, head and right wing. ‘On solving the’ was what I had after. It had only been a few minutes but I turned my attention to the office, making sure still no one was peeking into my workspace. When I confirmed I remained unobserved, I turned back to my work, a fervent almost fanatical vigour gripping me as I read over the four words. Perhaps this was in part from my second (or third or fourth) wind from lack of sleep but most of it was due to the realisation this Sequence really was the key to solving this puzzle. It could be done!

           Feverishly, I worked my code into the fabric of the insect, from the next lines of the wings and head down to the ends of the wingtips and abdomen. Only when fully finished did I focus on the message I now had access to.

 

**‘Congratulations on solving the puzzle. Unfortunately I can’t explain just yet how you are involved or why these answers need to be solved as puzzles. Bear with me. All I can say for now is you are important to me. That’s the only way you can fully read this. Please continue on this mission for me. All will be revealed in due time.’**

 

           I was so intrigued by this message I interrupted myself from finishing what was still left to read. ‘You are important to me.’ Who? The killer? Someone else? And ‘That’s the only way you can fully read this.’ So, because I was important to…whomever, that gave me the ability to read this message…? Then… was Justine also important to the author? Or anyone else? Anyone else who could solve these puzzles? …Solve these murders…? There was more, I recalled and continued to read what I soon realised was a riddle.

 

**‘The one closest can't see what you see**

**But the one furthest away can**

**The truth, to them, is not a mystery**

**But the truth, to them, is a sham**

**At the building of knowledge a book will lie**

**Talking of seven powers that govern the Earth**

**About corruption and evil and those who will die**

**About purity and goodness and those of rebirth**

**The answers are concealed in darkness**

**The solutions do take flight**

**The shadows are rather heartless**

**So hunt only by the light**

**That is when all will be revealed’**

 

           I read this message over a couple times, both perplexed and enthralled. A riddle within a cypher… It felt much like receiving a present only to find within the box was another box. There was the word 'powers' yet again. And a building of knowledge? I suppose it depended on someone’s perspective, but my idea of a building of knowledge would be a university, or a library. Could this riddle be leading me to one of those locations? There was the Gressenheller University right here in London, the one Professor Layton taught at. Maybe I could drop by and visit him as well, catch up a bit. And of course there was a library, quite a few. Bookstores too. If I wanted to solve this riddle (and of course I did) I imagined I’d have to give them all a visit. Though I might avoid one particular bookstore as I didn't really feel like meeting up with Fayne…

           A quiet tune began to play, seeping through into my thoughts. A slightly melancholic ring it was, at least until I returned from my pondering and realised where I was meant to be. I retrieved my mobile, looking to the time as I dismissed the alarm. Five o’clock. As much as I wished to delve into a further in-depth analysis of this newest puzzle, it would have to wait. A grave solemnity darkened my features, my excitement overshadowed. I had two very important people to meet.

           Taking the two puzzles, my code and the message I had deciphered in hand I punched out, logged off my computer and walked for the front door.

           “Have a good night, Mary,” I said over my shoulder as I opened the door, offering a thin smile of valediction.

           “Good night, Clive,” she said.

           I noticed then her usual chipper demeanour wasn’t present, her tone reflecting my sullen expression. She knew. But, of course she did… I should have known by now there was no need to mask my feelings. Not from her and not in this situation. We had been friends long enough for her to understand exactly where I was headed.

           With this, I departed. The walk there began fine as I took strong strides, my chin held high, even as I entered the market to purchase the flowers. But once I left again and drew nearer my destination I had to lower my face. Not to shield my eyes from the setting sun. More to obscure my emotions from the people walking all around me. I couldn’t keep them from pervading my features this time.

           The memories weren’t helping. I attempted to withhold them from searing themselves into my mind once more, but I already knew it was as fruitless as a bucket of water to a conflagration… A conflagration like the one that had engulfed our flat, luciferous, ferocious … And the fuliginous, suffocating smoke that curled up my nostrils, prickling my lungs… And the shrieks of the sirens, piercing, shrill… And a man—Professor Layton—calming me after the discovery…

           I stepped into the graveyard.

           …That my parents had suffered and died…

           My eyes wandered amongst grey slabs, their forms imperceptible, unimportant, until I found the gravestones I sought. I stepped up to them, my footfalls almost mechanical as images continued to flash behind my eyes, merciless.

           I had loved them. And they me. A boy couldn’t have asked for a more perfect family. A kind family. A family without a single enemy.

           I examined their names, carved, eternal, in cold granite. I could never forget them but they felt closer when I read them over.

           And that’s why it had been so confusing…the lack of media coverage for the explosion. I hadn’t found out the reason behind their deaths…

           I stooped and cleaned their headstones of loose bits of grass and debris left over from autumn’s litter and winter’s thaw.

           But then I’d been adopted, become a reporter…and that was when I had discovered the truth. That my parents had been murdered…all for one man’s selfish, greedy plan…

           Images of old archives, the smell of ink and dust, the feeling of cold sweat as I held the paper that revealed to me years of answers that had been concealed… My fingers tightened into fists.

           They had been the ones to lose their lives in the time machine explosion all those years ago. He…the Prime Minister, just a scientist then, had been testing the machine in order to sell it. To whom, I’d never found out. But he had done it for money, fame, power…and none of that was worth even one person’s life let alone my parents’…!

           I felt a warm, then cool liquid seeping over my knuckles and I turned my head, slow, robotic. The flashbacks had me bound in their stupefying grip. I could do nothing but watch as a lurid red diluted into peach tones, lit with a fiery orange, sliding down, down, down…

           Then I returned. I felt pain at first. Then noticed my fingers, clenched so tight the thorned roses were biting into my flesh, drawing blood. I sighed. How could this be…?

           I loosened my grip, forcing the memories back. I’d thought on them, dreamt of them and spoken to multiple therapists about them enough. Now it was time to move on. After all, those blind emotions were what had caused London’s destruction in the first place… I turned back to my parents.

           “Good evening, Mum, Dad,” I greeted, forcing my expression to soften as I wiped the blood off. “I’ve been well. Busy, perhaps too much so as I haven’t slept properly in days, but well. And it’s only been a year since I last visited but Justine’s grown so much.” A soft chuckle escaped me. “Too much. She’s more strong-willed than ever. Cogg told me recently she barely even needs her lab trainer anymore and she’s only just begun her internship! I’m so proud of her, being able to juggle school and a job. And a social life, as well. She herself has become so much friendlier since last we talked, more joking…but it seems to have attracted a crowd of, well…interesting teenagers…” I sighed, closing my eyes as I crossed my arms and cocked my head to one side. “Though I don’t admit it often, as a single father I wonder whether or not you two were bothered by my own interactions at school. Was there a friend you thought might have a bad influence on me? Try to hurt me? And now that the times have changed so much… What if Justine’s poorly influenced? Or hurt? And I’m not there… Like right now… Aggh…” I uttered in a mix of growl and sigh, shaking my head. “Worrying about it gives me quite the headache so…I guess, and I’m only theorising, but I’ve been thinking lately, as a parent I should overlook certain negative possibilities to spare my daughter…” I rubbed my forehead with a thumb and pointer, wincing. “And myself… Anyhow… I don’t usually have much to talk about with my job, but recently I’ve found myself involved in another mystery, one much like when I was investigating what had happened to you two. It involves murders and…myself I’ve now realised. The killer seems to be specifically targeting me. Why, is the question. And I do hope to understand it soon. As much as I’d like to see you two again,” I gave a dry chuckle, “I’m not too keen on dying quite yet…”

          To honour their deaths yet again, I fell silent, allowing only the distant sounds of the city to filter in as I closed my eyes and rested the roses in my free palm. The spring breeze drew through my hair, whispering of city scents and many memories—of those perfumed flowers my mother would plant, of the ink and stationary my father always seemed hunched over, of the restaurants we’d frequent, parks we’d visit, café’s and markets and streets—all harkening back to a time my parents were alive. Some tragic recollections attempted to break through this moment but they were easier to tame now that I’d spent some time at the graves, once again accepting death’s harsh reality.

           After this moment of silence passed, I set the roses at the bases of the headstones before making my way to another grave. It wasn’t her death anniversary but since I was here I thought I’d visit her as well. I walked over to another grave I knew the shape and colour of all too well.

           ‘Here lies Constance Dove’

           I read the strict serif font chiselled in grey. Much too serious for a woman of her wit and playful personality, I thought, smiling warmly. Just below was the date of her birth and death. I could still remember the latter date as if it was still only yesterday when my adoptive mother had passed. She had been much more than a replacement mother, that much was certain.

           “Thank you for taking such good care of me,” I whispered. Each time I visited, I made a habit of thanking her, ever since her death back when I was but Justine’s age. My smile faded. “I will…always be sorry for using the wealth you provided me for such wrongdoing. I hope I have served my time well by rebuilding what I destroyed.”

           After one final moment of silence I decided it was about time I head home for the night. Not only was I famished enough to drop into one of the graves surrounding me, but Justine would resort to junk food if I didn’t start supper soon…

           I moved on, about to turn round when I noticed stuck to the back of one grave was a scrap of paper fluttering lazily in the breeze. _Another_ insect puzzle? Would it be a new one this time now that I’d solved the last ones? Perhaps a different breed of puzzle altogether?

           Gripped with curiosity, I walked over to retrieve it, stooping and reaching out a hand. But just as my fingers grasped the bottom of the scrap out of the air I noticed another waving scrap catch my peripheral. And another. And another. I looked up.

           On the backs of the graves before me for as far as I could see, scraps of paper fluttered, encircling me. Suddenly, an icy chill encased me from head to toe, freezing me in place as I glimpsed what they featured. These weren’t insect puzzles. They were photographs… Photographs of a man… No… This couldn’t be…

           Slowly, dreading what I’d find, I glanced down to the photo in my fingers, moving my thumb from where it had covered what was inscribed. Another shock of ice coursed my veins and arteries. Brown hair, like mine. Brown eyes, like mine. A pointed nose. Slim in stature. A deep scar caused by that…that war machine, partially covered by left-swept bangs. All resembling mine. This was a man I no longer knew…one I’d left behind never to be seen again…or so I thought. This very man was the one who had destroyed London in a blind rage all those years ago.

           This man was me.

 

 

Thanat was pacing about the underground laboratory, his Oxfords cracking out a harsh tattoo that echoed off the shadowed walls. Back and forth. Back and forth. Waiting for his spy to return. He glanced behind one of those shadowed walls. There lay the great professor he had captured. He eyed the man closer and scoffed. He was trembling in his bloodied cage, his emaciated, soiled form quivering. Great professor, indeed… The man couldn’t even carry out a simple bloody task… And for this he had to involve the experiment. A gamble, especially if it ever saw behind the wall hiding the man. Even he would be in danger then… But this risk was necessary at this time. His plans could still be carried out. But… His already petrous expression hardened further. Where was it? His spy? How long did it take?! It was only testing Clive to solve the puzzle… He wasn’t daft… Surely he was nearly done?!

           “Mr Thanat?”

           “ _What is it?!_ ” Thanat snarled, rounding on the person who dared interrupt his thoughts. When his blind rage cleared he saw his spy, who had taken a step back in fright at his bellow. He softened his expression considerably. “I do apologise for the outburst. I didn’t mean to shout at you.” “I do apologise for the outburst. I didn’t mean to shout at you.” He loathed apologising but…he simply had to… Especially if he wanted his plans to succeed. In the end it would pay off. He would utterly destroy Clive—from the inside-out. Only then would he be satisfied holding his lifeless body by the neck. The eye not behind his black patch narrowed. A treasure worth savouring after all that man had done. All in due time… “Please, report. I’ll trust you have a lot of good news for me.”

           The spy, presently taking on the appearance of a young woman, straightened slowly, her alarm uplifted to an excited smile.

           “Sure have! He’s solved the first bit of the puzzle. Now he’s onto a riddle.” She slipped her hand into her pocket, searching for a moment. Then stopped. Again, her excitement melted away, replaced with concern and confusion as her eyes searched the floor.

           Thanat, noticing this, at first glared at her, his narrowed eyes hard as obsidian. Then his rigid gaze softened once more.

           “I know it’s difficult,” he said, his spy suddenly training her attention on him, bewildered. But his voice did not have the booming quality of grating rocks this time. “I know what it’s like to lose those close to you.”

           “…You do…?” his spy ventured softly. “You’ve never told me…”

           “My own family was taken from me due to a tragedy many years ago…” As Clive’s face filled his mind’s eye, Thanat’s features hardened once more then became even more rigid as he winced, flashbacks pulsing inside his skull until it felt as if it would rupture. He quickly willed the horrid images away before the voices—those _damned_ voices—could surface, and, again, forced his features to loosen as he watched his spy with something that could only come close to compassion. “And like myself, there is a chance for you to find your loved ones once more.” He scrutinised her. Despite his plans, he had to admit he truly did feel…something for the spy. A fatherly sort of bond he had at one time shared with his son—something he had nearly forgotten how to feel… And so he didn’t want to lie to it. At the same time, he had to. For justice… “All it takes is spying on Clive and solving these puzzles.”

           His spy watched him for a long moment, taking in what he’d told her. They’d had this conversation before and she knew her duty, but Thanat had never explained his own past to her. She supposed then if he as willing to open up, even if it was just this small amount, that she could trust him. With this, she continued, upbeat once more as she searched her pocket again.

           “I understand, Mr Thanat! So, as I was saying, Clive was reading some of that puzzle out while solving it so I was able to write down some words here and there.” She withdrew her hand and offered Thanat a scrap of paper she’d written upon.

           “Excellent,” Thanat said, taking the piece.

           “Sorry if it seems incomplete. It was kind of hard to hear him… Like, even when his lips were moving, I couldn’t catch what he was saying. But other times I could…”

           Thanat glanced quickly at his spy to see it thinking hard on this question. He knew exactly why it couldn’t hear what Clive had been saying. It was the puzzle. The very notion of the thing was a mystery to everyone but those chosen…or those who stole. Such was the only reason he could now understand what was written as he turned his attention back to the scrap, scanning the scattered lines. It wasn’t much but it would do for now. With it he could keep track of what Clive discovered. His features hardened once more, his white moustache dipping with his deepening frown. Clive may be one of the rare few who could solve the Guardian’s puzzles, but that didn’t mean he’d be the one to earn its rewards in the end…

           “Is that all?” Thanat now queried his spy.

           She nodded.

           “Then continue your investigation until he’s found the answer to this new riddle.”

           With this, Thanat turned and walked away. His expression now completely devoid of compassion as his plans came to the forefront of his mind yet again, he shot his hostage another piercing glare through the bars of his cage as he passed. He would have offered him one last chance to break Bill Hawks out of prison, but he couldn’t speak to the man with his spy here. It didn’t matter much anyway, he knew. The man would refuse in the end… That’s why it was time.

           “So…” he heard his spy begin a bit hesitantly, as she chewed her lip, “talking of my parents…is there any news on them yet…Mr Thanat, sir?”

           Unseen by both spy and commander, the hostage shifted his tired, stinging, black-ringed eyes to the girl, alerted by her distant words. So…she wasn’t partnered with them of her own accord. They were bribing her…with the promise of finding her parents, no less… He knew whatever came next, then, he couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault… As someone who was adopted himself, he didn’t know if he could have resisted the temptation of meeting his parents if someone had offered… But her parents… There had to be a way to let her know she was being used…before it was too late…

           He watched Thanat, who didn’t stop walking, searching for an opportunity to call the girl over. He hadn’t had the chance before. Thanat had been keeping her from this room until now. He wondered why but he didn’t have time to puzzle out this mystery. Right now he just had to get her attention…

           But the man’s plan was short-lived, dashed completely to pieces as he turned his attention back to Thanat.

           “In due time,” Thanat answered his spy. He then leaned behind a wall and dragged an unconscious elderly woman to her feet, her head lulling against her chest. He glanced to his spy to see the hopeful look in her eyes had not disappeared. Then he turned his gaze once more to the hostage whose pallid face had drained of any colour it had had left, a silent scream, held back only by the shock-collar at his throat, reflected in his wide eyes. He had expected nothing less. They’d already taken his granddaughter and son. Now it was time to start on those who had cared for him. “Firstly, though, I have a request for you.” And with this, he snapped his fingers.

           The clap of sound echoed about the spacious laboratory, bouncing off the walls until it faded away. But it hadn’t truly disappeared. Instead, it acted like a signal, resonating with his spy, his experiment.

           First to go was that innocent expression of hers, her eyes rolling back into her head as she gasped in fear. Her placid demeanour was next, her lips pulling at the corners into a deep frown, her brow furrowed in an expression somewhere between trepidation and hatred. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, her nails digging into the fabric of her shirt as she folded over, her mouth open only slightly, a low groan of agony escaping between her teeth.

           And then the transformation began. Her fingers began to extend, bones snapping, sinew stretching as the joints jerked into long, grotesque claws. Her nails, too, elongated, cutting into the fabric of her shirt as they turned pointed and deadly, now tipped with flame. Her face and jaws expanded until they were both canine and fowl in appearance, her cuspids now sharp, like those of a wolf, ready to rip and tear. As she lifted her chin and howled at the ceiling, shaking the single lamp above until it swung to and fro, she opened her eyes wide, the whites free of iris and pupil, glowing golden like molten bronze. Her shoulder-length hair grew thick and long. It was impeded only by the hairband but such a fragile fastening was quickly expanded beyond its limits until it snapped and her hair continued to grow, ceasing only when it was as long as her body. It set itself alight, becoming the embodiment of fire itself.

           As soon as the transformation had begun, it concluded, leaving the once timid young woman a blazing, writhing beast, shrieking into the night. Thanat watched his experiment with solemn pride, his stony expression lit by the flames emanating from it. Even a double-edged sword could be more a blessing than a hindrance at times… He looked to his hostage one last time to see the man’s wild eyes staring at the beast that would soon kill his adoptive mother.

           “I warned you, didn’t I?” he murmured to the quivering man, though he had no intention of being heard. He released the unconscious woman from his grasp, letting her fall to the floor where she lay still. Until she began to awaken.

           And the last things she heard were a snap, an inhuman howl, perhaps the scream of a man she knew…before she was cloven in two.


End file.
